


things she'd said at 1:30 am

by evawrites



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crushes, Drama & Romance, F/F, Happy Ending, Raven is drunk, abby is caring (and worried), clarke is a cupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-06 02:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20284147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evawrites/pseuds/evawrites
Summary: Raven is 26, she's got a great job, three amazing best friends and a not-so-hopeless crush on Abby, who happens to have a crush on her too.





	things she'd said at 1:30 am

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone.
> 
> i think it's important to state english is not my native language, i'm still learning and practicing it. but considering the tiniest amount of doctor mechanic fics this fandom has (compared to clexa fics, or bellarke ones), i decided to get it over with and translate this fic from russian, my first language, to english in hopes that maybe someone will find it interesting and entertaining.
> 
> enjoy reading!
> 
> [1] p.s. feedback would be very appreciated
> 
> [2] p.s. i'm working on a multi-chapter doctor mechanic hsau, so if anyone's interested, it'd be cool if you let me know :) i'll happily translate thirteen chapters i already have to english and post them on ao3.

Only after the fourth glass of very strong whiskey, Raven realizes that perhaps going to the bar on the evening of her birthday wasn’t the best idea. It was far from the best or even “extremely foolish” as Abby would’ve undoubtedly said. But Octavia and Clarke were really persistent about this something she couldn’t even call a proposal.

Clarke just threw her left hand around her shoulders, smiled brightly and said, “Get ready, Rae, we’re going to ‘Polis’. Bellamy’s waiting for us downstairs.”

Raven tried to refuse, muttering a few timid ‘buts’, eventually being interrupted by Octavia who claimed that celebrating her 26th birthday watching Netflix tv shows and eating a take-out from KFC was a real-life crime. That’s how she ended up in the aforementioned bar.

In fact, everything is not as bad as it might seem. They are having fun; Octavia and Clarke laugh almost every thirty seconds, and she and Bellamy just exchange eloquent glances, silently betting on which of the girls will be the first to pass out on the backseat of Bellamy’s car. Whiskey-brandy-absinth replace one another again and again, and the one permanent thing is a package of nachos and a tub of cheese sauce, courtesy of a pretty bartender. There’s typical club music pounding in their ears, so within twenty minutes after arriving she and Bellamy are forced to keep his younger sister and their Clarke from arranging an improvised dance floor at the bar counter- or, even worse, on top of it. From time to time rhythmic melodies are replaced by soft and smooth, and Raven listens to words about love and friendship and trust with such attention she manages to dip nachos not in cheese sauce, but in her whiskey. 

Raven is happy and sad at the same time, but she has no idea why. Still, everyone else seems to know; they’re at the bar for less than an hour when O and Clarke stop trying to draw her into a conversation or at least somehow cheer her up. When it finally happens, she and Bellamy exhale in unison, anticipating at least a few minutes of calming silence. Apparently, they’re the only people in the whole world going to bars in hopes of finding something like that. It seems their point of view is not shared by anyone at all, especially by cheerful and tipsy girls sitting right in front of them. Raven glances at Clarke and then at Octavia, wondering if she was the same at their age. She’s only a little ashamed when she hopes she wasn’t. She adores these turbulent and chaotic girls with her whole heart, but the fact of them being insufferable more than often is absolutely undeniable. 

“Rae, lighten up a little,” Clarke says, pursing her lips like a small child. Raven’s eyes move to the glass in the girl’s hand, and she notices there’s a little less alcohol than there was the last time she looked at it. She tries to remember if it’s the second, third or the fourth glass. Clarke follows her gaze and doesn’t even try to hide an irritated moan when she rolls her eyes in annoyance. “I can practically _hear _you thinking. Don’t you wanna have fun instead of checking out how much I’ve drunk so you could report back to my mom later?”

Raven blushes, but not too visibly, thanks to the shitty bar lightning. She doesn’t even make an attempt to deny Clarke’s words, because every time they go to the bar together there’s Abby’s gentle voice ringing in her head, “Please, make sure my daughter is not drunk enough to lose consciousness. Or a pulse, for that matter”. And she does exactly that, because, in her opinion, there’s no one in the whole universe who could hear Abigail Griffin say ‘please’ and still not to do what they were asked to. Except maybe Clarke. 

“I _am _having fun,” she replies a little too unconvincingly.

The blonde raises her eyebrows. “Come _on_, really?”

“Clarke, Rae is so grumpy because we’re not your mom,” Octavia puts in her word, forcing her best friend to start nodding with such sharpness that for a second Raven wonders if Clarke’s head is going to fall off.

She shoots a quick glance on her right side, at Bellamy, as if waiting for him to tease her too, but he just smiles encouragingly and stays silent, glaring at his restless sister and her best friend. Apparently, they decided to make sure Raven doesn’t live to celebrate her 27th, but rather dies of embarrassment on her 26th birthday. Once again, she’s grateful for Bellamy’s silent presence and support beside her, since he’s the only one interested in her living a long life. Because if he had joined these two, Raven would have probably died right here and now. 

“If you give me a couple of hours, I’ll have a quick plastic surgery made and will look exactly like her,” Clarke keeps teasing, wiggling her eyebrows. At that moment Raven decides she and Octavia don’t even need Bellamy- they’re doing a great job at sending her to the grave of shame and embarrassment themselves. Though they stop joking as soon as they notice it doesn’t make her laugh, instantly reminding her why she loves them both. The faces of the two 18-year-old girls become serious, and Raven knows exactly what they will talk about next.

Probably about the fact that Raven had actually invited Abby to her birthday party, but she politely declined. The smile on the woman's face was so unbearably soft and somewhat guilty. It seemed like a real-life crime to be angry with her, so she _really _tried not to do it all evening. Or not to think about it at all. It turned out, she sucked at doing both of these things.

It wasn't even that Abby _declined_, it was _how _she did it.

_“Thank you for the invitation, Raven, but I'm sure you want to spend the evening with your friends. You won't need me at all... besides, I already have some plans.”_

Like Abby is not Raven’s friend. Like Abby is a complete nobody. Like Abby is not the woman Raven's been in love with for the last four years.

So she had every right to get drunk, actually. And she decided to use it because Bellamy somehow became their designated driver for today.

“Rae,” Clarke calls out, drawing her best friend’s attention. She reaches out and covers Raven’s hand with her own in silent support, “you know my mom adores you. I mean, I’m sure she likes you even more than she does me,” she jokes, and Raven smiles against her will. “Besides, a week before today she'd almost had an actual panic attack when she couldn’t decide on your birthday present. And then we'd spent like nine hours at the mall choosing you a gift. _Nine! _And she'd dragged me everywhere she went because ‘I know you like no one else does’, duh.” Clarke makes a face and mimics her mother perfectly. Octavia can’t help and laughs, Bellamy snickers and Raven just rolls her eyes because Griffin women love to mimic each other too much.

“Do you know what her plans for today were?” she asks, trying to sound as uninterested as possible.

"I think Chief Kane asked her out,” Clarke recalls, thinking with such eagerness that Raven’s seriously starting to worry about her poor, probably already drunken brain. “If she told you she had plans, then she decided to go out with him because I can't think of anything else she could do tonight.”

Raven exhales sharply, instantly feeling Bellamy’s heavy hand on her back. One night she got drunk and told her best friend about her crush on her best friend’s mom, laughing and crying somewhat hysterically from time to time. Alcohol, in her opinion, makes her too emotional.

Raven knows perfectly well how it all started; it all started with Clarke. They’d met when a girl with blond curls wasn’t so bold and sassy, but when her eyes were still the exact shade of blue they are now. Clarke was 14 years old, Raven was 22. She was getting her master’s degree at the Polis University when Clarke’s school came there for the ‘Career Fairs Day’. Of course, Raven was so clumsy she had almost knocked the girl down because of being late for her lecture. And then, a few weeks later, she saw a familiar shade of blond in the front raw of the web design class she’d taken for general development. She talked with Professor Sydney and found out the girl’s name was Clarke and she was going to lectures at such an early age only because one of her relatives was a long-time friend of President Jaha. Raven had tried not to pay much attention to her, but it was incredibly difficult. Sometimes Clarke felt so confident she even raised her hand, asking questions or answering them. One day after the end of her class she decided it wouldn’t be a bad thing if she just had lunch with a girl who had always been alone, hiding in some secluded space, which existence Raven hadn’t even known about until she saw the blonde there.

One dinner turned into two, two into three, and ‘just lunch’ into a strong friendship.

Due to the age difference, Abby treated her with some skepticism from the very start, not even hiding it. Raven did the same only to annoy the woman. She genuinely enjoyed the fire in Abby's chestnut-brown eyes, the icy tone of her voice giving orders-requests, and the wreath pulsing on her forehead every time the woman lost her temper. She was devastatingly beautiful, and Raven has always been good at making people angry, so she thought, _“Why not?”_ and continued to do all these small things which pissed usually peaceful and balanced Abby off. 

When Clarke first invited her to her place, she told her to feel at home, and much to Abigail's dismay, Raven did. She still remembers the time she'd left her t-shirt on the couch in the living room, or how her toothbrush had suddenly appeared in Clarke's bathroom, or how the yogurts she liked but Griffin women had never eaten miraculously materialized in the fridge. And she still remembers how much it annoyed Abby, but she did it only because she saw the woman wasn't angry directly with her, rather taking out all her anger on her. And Raven- Raven didn't mind much, because Abigail Griffin was the most gorgeous woman she'd ever seen.

She behaved boldly and blatantly, and remembering it now Raven wants to laugh out loud. Because Abby was pointing out uninvited- at least according to her- guest’s behavior had been completely unacceptable; Abby claimed Raven had been acting like she owned the Griffin townhouse, and kept pushing for the girl to call her “Ms. Griffin”. She better not has done it though, because the older woman’s insistence, irritation, and temper were the main reasons Raven ditched an officially correct name and decided to go with a sassy “Abby” accompanied by a smug smirk instead.

Their relationship improved when Clarke turned 15 and spiraled out of control due to the bad influence of her classmates. She started going to parties and doing almost every single thing a 15-year-old girl was _not _supposed to do. And, of course, when Clarke got drunk and wanted to go home, she wouldn't call her mother who was going crazy, having absolutely no idea where her daughter was. She would call Raven. And Raven would go to the house of Clarke’s this week’s best friend, carefully place the girl on the back seat of her car and let her pass out right there, carrying her to the townhouse after (she's always been always as light as a feather). She would put Clarke to bed, cover her with a fuzzy blanket and leave a gentle kiss on the forehead of a growing teenager. Then she would brush tangled blonde curls from her forehead with a gentle movement of her hand. Abby would be watching her the whole time, not saying a word at all, and when Raven would be standing at the front door, the woman would blurt out the sincerest “thank you” she’d ever heard.

After the third time she started staying for Abby’s green tea, which, to be honest, she had hated since childhood, but she couldn’t find the courage to decline an invitation. They would sit in the living room in front of the fireplace, drinking tea and eating Abby’s homemade oatmeal cookies, and they would talk for hours. It was ridiculously simple.

That’s how Raven fell in love with mint-and-lemon green tea. 

That’s how Raven fell in love with Abby.

And Abby was- _Abby_. An extremely brilliant, heavenly beautiful and utterly incredible head of cardiothoracic surgery at the best hospital in the state. Fourteen years older than Raven. The one who had always called her “sweetie” or “honey” or “dear”, making her heart melt time after time when the endearment once again slipped from the older woman’s mouth. And Raven thought- or rather Raven _knew_\- her feelings would never be mutual. Abby would’ve probably just laughed if Raven had ever allowed herself to say out loud, “I’m in love with you, and my hands start shaking, my legs start trembling and my heart beats so fast I think I might be having a heart attack every time I see you.”

The main thing is, she saw Abby with the same frequency because soon Clarke grew out of parties and became a hard-working student, still remaining somewhat sassy and bold, but in an absolutely charming way (Abby would start to say her daughter undoubtedly took this behavior over Raven. She would grumble a bit, say she doesn’t like that at all, but wouldn't be able to hold back a smile, quickly exposing herself). And then Raven would be hanging out with Abby not because that was how the older woman thanked her for once again saving her daughter from unprotected sex or other drunken nonsense, but because imagining her life without their daily conversations and text messages was suddenly impossible.

Clarke and Octavia haven’t stopped teasing her about that ever since. It didn’t seem like Clarke was against her best friend being friends with her mother though, and it really was calming the older girl down. However, as she’d once told Bellamy, she would rather fall underground than tell Clarke even the tiniest bit of the truth about her feelings for the blonde’s mother.

The only problem is her obviousness, and Bellamy is always here to remind her of that. Because she can’t look away from Abby, can’t hide her jealousy and sure as hell can’t get behind her favorite, “I’m okay”. Abby sees right through her in a moment, while Clarke needs a little more time, but the outcome is always the same; Raven is totally busted and is certainly blushing like some high-schooler. 

She’s pulled out of her thoughts by Bellamy’s not-so-gentle nudge to her side. She looks up and notices two interested pairs of eyes that have been watching her changing expression like vultures. Raven puts on a happy face, somehow being unable to stop thinking about how much fun Abby must be having on a date with her boss. She would've never been able to blame the older woman for her stupid and somewhat self-destructive behavior, even if she had really wanted to, so she blames fucking Marcus Kane for everything instead. It’s his face she imagines hitting the bull’s eye over and over again, winning darts games against some random visitors. One glass of free whiskey is replaced by another, and soon Bell, O and Clarke join her. Darts is replaced by the pool, whiskey is by brandy, and brandy is by beer because strong alcohol suddenly makes her feel sick (at least only Raven; she watches Clarke as if it's her damn duty, noticing the girl's not as drunk as it might seem). 

A few hours later, it's too hot to even think. Raven takes off her jacket first and then her usual sleeveless dark-grey t-shirt, accompanied by the whistle and hooting of the other bar patrons, remaining in her black sports bra. She pretty quickly catches the glance of a bartender and leaves her friends to drink some cold cocktail. The bar is stuffy, the music is pounding in their ears, people are shouting “hurrah!” every time someone scores the right ball or hits the bull’s eye, and the thoughts of Abby are still somewhere in the back of her mind.

Therefore, four cocktails later, when she's laying on the couch allocated to their table while her friends keep winning good money in darts, pool and kicker, Raven thinks about calling the woman who has never left her thoughts this evening (who’s she kidding- not only this evening, the last four years). If she could think rationally, she would have probably called herself an idiot and drowned her phone in the glass of beer to avoid any temptation to dial the number. But “drunk Raven” and ‘rational thinking” are the biggest antonyms in the universe. That’s why she pulls the phone out of the back pocket of her jeans, in the process hitting her elbow on the inside of the table. It hurts like hell, she can’t hold back a painful moan, but some of the patrons see the situation quite differently and start whistling. Raven just rolls her eyes and blurts out a pretty loud, “Shut the fuck up, asshole!”. Yeah, if alcohol was anyone’s best friend, it sure as hell wasn’t hers.

Abby doesn't pick up the phone right away, only when Raven calls for the second time and listens to the annoying beeps for at least thirty seconds. She stares at the ceiling above, thinking it’s a much better view than the gum glued to the inside of the table. The older woman's voice is a little worried when she answers, but Raven doesn't quite catch it.

“Raven, is everything alright?”

“How’s your date going?” she asks in response, completely ignoring the question. She knows her words may have seemed too sarcastic or jealous, or too mocking, but she honestly doesn't care. 

“My date?” it takes her a while to realize Abby is actually confused. _She’s probably wondering how I found out_, Raven thinks. “It’s- it’s not like that. How- why would you-” 

“Come on, Clarke told me, there’s no need to lie,” Raven says before she can filter anything out. Her voice is too casual to be real, and the older woman notices it without much difficulty. In fact, you should be deaf not to notice. “I can’t believe you ditched me on my fucking _birthday _for some stupid shit-eating guy. Friends don’t do that, you know,” she mutters a little resentfully, biting her lower lip. “And you’re my friend. Even if you don’t think so. Even if I’m not yours.”

The words settle in the air like a giant concrete block, and they're both silent for a while until Abby states the most obvious fact on Earth, at least for now, “Raven, you’re drunk.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw!” she exclaims and laughs, but her laughter is completely fake, insincere. Without Abby there’s no fun at all, no matter how hard she has tried.

Abby falls silent again, and Raven just presses the phone closer to her ear to make sure the older woman is still breathing, to make sure she hasn't killed her with her stupidity. She's waiting for something like, “I hope Clarke is not in the same condition as you are”, or something ruder, because, _for God's sake_, she interrupted her fucking date. But Abby's voice is gentle, even careful as if she’s afraid to hurt her.

“How much did you have to drink?”

“Everything,” Raven answers without hesitation and smiles, because, well, it’s true. After winning five darts games in a row, she made every loser who couldn’t compare with her buy her different drinks from the menu so she could try them all. That’s exactly what she did. So, at the moment, Raven is probably made of her loyal friend ethanol. It’s probably not the blood running through her veins, but the alcohol. In her defense, she rarely got _that _drunk. Abby just has that effect on her, as no one else does.

“Are Clarke, Bellamy and Octavia with you?” Abby asks. Raven nods, forgetting the older woman can’t see her. She prepares to turn the gesture into words when Abby speaks up again. Because of course she understood why there had been a brief moment of silence between them, and Raven is _pissed_; sometimes the way Abby knows her is just so fucking annoying. “Are they as drunk as you are? No, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

Her next words are so vulnerable, quiet and timid as if she's embarrassed or self-conscious. Which is a complete nonsense in theory and in practice; Abby is _always _confident and is _never _embarrassed. 

“Do you want me to come and get you, honey?”

“I _don't _need you,” Raven spits out. She knows it's rude, really damn rude, but she also knows it's a complete lie. Because when Abby calls her like _that _and talks to her exactly _that _way, she melts like an ice cube in the sun. She doesn't miss the way Abby exhales sharply and swallows hard, as if the girl's words actually caused her physical pain. Raven instantly feels guilty. “Fuck,” she mutters, running her hand through her tangled hair. She's too drunk for all of this. Calling Abby was a terrible idea. Why the hell didn't someone stop her?

“Abs, I’m sorry,” the nickname falls from her lips on its own, and is she was more attentive, she would’ve noticed the older woman stopped breathing for a few seconds. “I’m such an idiot. Who am I kidding? _I need you_. Of course, I need you. But I’m so fucking mad at you for going on a date with some asshole instead of coming to my stupid birthday party. And I don’t know why, because it’s not even fun here, and I’m just- _sonofaBITCH!_”

This colorful set of words marks the moment when she loosens the grip on her phone and it falls to the floor with its screen down. It’s been barely alive in the last few weeks, working intermittently and randomly calling people from her contact list even at three in the morning, even numbers from other continents, so she's pretty sure it can't be saved anymore. At least not right now. She'll think of something tomorrow if she doesn't forget about it.

Raven spends the next few minutes just lying on the couch, her right-hand dangling and almost touching a dirty floor. Clarke finds her in this exact position. It doesn’t take much time for an extremely persistent 18-year-old to drag her best friend off the couch and push her towards the bartender who was eyeing her some time ago with clear interest. They chat and smile and laugh, and it’s all so easy, but Gina, no matter how pretty she is, is still not Abby. No one can be compared to that woman, she’s sure as hell; with Abby’s poorly hidden smile, sharp cheekbones, and graceful hands saving human lives day after day.

Gina is cute, pours them on the house. Raven carries the drinks to her friends, hesitating a little when she holds out one of them to Clarke. The girl rolls her eyes and takes a shot in before her best friend has the time to even blink. Raven just lets go and takes three in herself, then returning her whole attention to another round of darts. Bellamy wonders how is it possible she drank almost all the contents of the bar but still manages to hit the bull’s eye on the first try, beating his ass. She makes a good-hearted joke, saying she’s better than him at darts and at everything else too, and they all share a laugh. Her brain is blissfully empty, especially when Clarke and Octavia decide to play kicker against one another, choosing Raven to be a judge and Bellamy as her assistant (he grumbles she’s in charge again, and she can’t hold back a genuine smile). Everything is fine until Clarke decides to check her social networks- honestly, _fuck _her goddamned addiction to them- and pulls her phone out of the ridiculously small handbag.

Because Clarke has more than twenty missed calls from her mother. She meets Raven’s eyes and recalls the girl telling her how much fun Abby was having on her date and how good it was she wasn’t here because otherwise, they would have had much less fun.

“Rae, what did you do?” Clarke asks, staring at her phone screen. Raven looks over her best friend’s shoulder, instantly forgetting how to breathe. _No, it’s just a coincidence. She’s worried for her daughter, that’s all_, Raven tells herself.

“O, Bell, please, give me your phones,” she tells then, and a few seconds later Raven understands why exactly she’d done it. Because both Blakes have as much missed calls from Abby as Clarke does, and Raven’s chest is suddenly filled with inexplicable warmth. She shakes it off like it’s some kind of a virus, not allowing herself to think that way. _Because Abby is not worried for me at all, she’s worried for Clarke._

Clarke’s phone vibrates and a text message from Abby pops up immediately. 

**[Mom, 00:38 AM] **

Clarke, I need to know if Raven is okay!

And they both flinch a little because Abby _never _uses exclamation points.

“Fuck, Rae, what the hell? What did you tell her?” Clarke whispers, not wanting Octavia to hear. The girl is amazing, but completely out of control when she’s drunk. It’s better to gag her than to try to survive at least fifteen minutes of her chatter.

“You know what she’s like. Just forget it,” Raven shrugs and then takes all three mobile devices out of Clarke’s hands. She hands them over to Gina, who’s been watching them curiously, and asks not to give them back for a couple of hours. Gina smiles and nods, hiding all of them behind the counter.

(Clarke’s phone continues to vibrate) 

* * *

Raven is not exactly sure how it happened; she's never been a big fan of dancing. It all starts with a wacky, ridiculous victory dance after she beats Bellamy at pool (again), but the crowd seems to enjoy watching a dancing young girl in skinny jeans and a sports bra, so they encourage her to continue with their loud applause and whistling. That's how she finds herself in the middle of the bar with Clarke and Octavia, creating an impromptu dance floor and rocking the party to Katy Perry’s songs, and soon they are joined by other visitors.

There’re bottles of at least four types of alcohol mixed together in their hands, blood pounding in their ears and a blissful emptiness in their heads. Raven likes it. She likes moving to the music, feeling the hands of some random girl on her thighs, but for some reason, she sees Abby everywhere. In every face. Especially in Clarke, because she looks like her mother a little bit. She tries to get rid of this strange stuff by pouring even more booze into herself, but she sucks at it; it only gets worse when, while dancing, she turns to the front door and meets with the eyes of the woman chasing her in her thoughts, immediately forgetting how to breathe. 

Because this Abby is _real_. She’s wearing a dark purple sheath low cut dress just above her knees, a black classic coat and black shoes with a ten-centimeter heel, because that’s the kind of heels she always prefers. Her dark brown hair, usually made into a neat side braid or perfectly careless ponytail, is now curled and cascading down her shoulders. They usually smell like blackberries of the woman’s shampoo, and this smell has always driven Raven crazy. She’s suddenly lost in those hypnotizing chestnut-brown eyes for a second, so it takes her some time to understand Abby’s expression; the older woman looks like she’s deciding whether to kill her right there and now or hug her. Raven hopes for the latter.

But after half a minute she realizes the first would be much more humane. Because she's wearing only a sports bra, and Abby's holding her close, almost weightlessly touching her waist with her fingertips, but that simple touch is enough to turn the whole Raven’s world upside down. She hesitantly wraps her arms around the woman's neck, burying herself in her soft hair and breathing in the familiar scent. _Blackberry_.

She suddenly has no memory of what she was angry at or even if she was angry at all, because Abby- Abby is touching her bare skin, her nose is buried in the crook of her neck, and her hands are clasped in a lock somewhere behind her back. All of this disappears after a while, and Raven exhales sharply when she realizes Abby’s fingers are not where they had been just a few seconds before. It seems like a low power electrical discharge passes all over her body when Abby touches her, and she just wants- no, she _needs _to feel it again. But the older woman must have other plans because she seems really angry when she pulls away from her and finally starts talking.

“What were you thinking?! Don't you _ever_ do that again, do you hear me?” her voice seems to be trembling, but Raven thinks she’s just having auditory hallucinations, completely oblivious to the quiet and shocked Clarke right behind her. Abby shifts from foot to foot and nervously bites her lower lip, for some reason not leaving alone the bracelet dangling on her left wrist. “I was so scared! Why the hell didn't any of you answer your phone?” she asks in a much stricter tone, giving her daughter and her other two best friends a murderous look. Despite this brief interaction, her gaze soon returns to Raven, and she takes a few steps forward, looking the girl up and down and blushing noticeably. _Just great, visual hallucinations are exactly what I need. _“Honey, is everything okay?”

Abby’s voice is soft and gentle, and Raven would like to be angry, but she can’t. Because Abby’s kind of having a date right now, and she’s _here_, with her, only because they haven’t answered four(ty) or six(ty) of her calls.

“I’m fine,” Raven blurts out without even thinking. Even if she did, it’s unlikely she would say something intelligible, because right now thinking seemed an unbearable task. 

She’s lying, of course. Abby, of course, sees right through her, as she’s always done.

Actually, it’s the hallmark of their relationship; Abby understands and sees everything, while Raven can neither understand nor see. Foresee, too.

Because in no existent universe could she even allow herself to think the older woman’s next action would be standing even closer to her and taking her hand, then stroking the back of it with her thumb in a soothing gesture. Raven feels like she’s suffocating and hopes nobody has noticed anything. But of course Bellamy has, and it looks like Clarke has, too. Fortunately, Octavia is too drunk to notice anything more than three centimeters away from her face. 

“I'm taking Raven _home_, she's done for today. And if one of you thinks the objections will be accepted, you’re mistaken,” Abby hisses, clearly angrily. Bellamy raises his hands up in surrender, Clarke gently nods and looks at them with even greater interest than before, Octavia just giggles. And one simple ‘home’ is repeating again and again in Raven’s head like a broken record, with her knowing it’s not her apartment she’ll be stepping into twenty minutes later.

“Will you show me what table you were sitting at, sweetheart?” Abby turns to her, leaning a little closer. Raven feels like she could pass out at any moment. The older woman’s hot breath on her skin makes her close her eyes, and she needs to take a few slow, deep breaths before she opens them, immediately noticing four different looks aimed at her. The first two belong to Octavia- who’s finally noticed what was going on- and Clarke; they’re simply a little (a-whole-fucking-lot) shocked. Third one belongs to Bellamy, somewhat worried and clearly agitated. And the fourth one, the most important one, belongs to Abby, extremely meaningful and caring.

Raven has a hard time waving her hand in the direction of the table. She doesn’t dare to speak; she’s afraid she’s going to say some profoundly embarrassing nonsense. Something about how beautiful Abby is, and how great her hips look in this dress, and how soft and silky her hair is. _Nope, definitely no talking. Just a terrible idea._

They are at the table in record time, and Abby sits Raven down on the couch. The girl is hardly kept in an upright position because the temptation to fall back and fall asleep right here is too great; the alcohol euphoria has passed, and the energy was replaced by exhaustion. She doesn't look away from Abby, trying to focus on her. First, the older woman finds her cell phone under the table (of course, with a cracked screen and in no working order), and then collects her t-shirt and jacket from the nearby couches. Realization comes to her too late, only when Abby's fingers are once again on her waist, belly, arms. 

_Oh, fuck._

After all, probably going outside in a sports bra at the end of September is not the best idea. Abby gets it almost immediately and then helps her get dressed; carefully raises her hands up and pulls on her shirt. Her touches are so extremely gentle and caring, almost weightless as if she was afraid to break her. In fact, Raven doesn't mind being broken at all, if that means Abby will keep on touching her like _that_.

Raven’s in the back seat of a taxi before she has the time to realize it, and her head magically finds its place on Abby’s knees. It’s not like the older woman is against it; she runs her hand through her hair, touches her cheeks carefully, and once accidentally brushes her lower lip with her thumb, making Raven shiver visibly. She lies with her eyes closed most of the time, but when she opens them, she realizes she was completely unprepared for what she sees. Abby is hovering over her, looking at her intently and too unreadably, with obvious concern, biting her lower lip from time to time. There’s a _“You’re such an idiot” _mixed with _“I’m so glad you’re okay” _in her eyes, and Raven states to herself how beautiful Abby is, perhaps using ‘fuck’ at the very beginning of her thought to enhance the effect.

Only she states it not to herself, but very much out loud, because even in the dark of the car she can see a blush rushing to Abby’s cheeks, her noticeably choking on air, her sharply averting her eyes and stopping with caressing Raven’s tangled hair. Raven thinks she’s fucked up a hell of a lot, but when Abby looks at her with that tenderness and _love _about forty seconds later, she knows she did the right thing. 

Apparently, it takes a while for Abby to remember how words are formed and sentences are made, but when she finally does, Raven definitely forgets how the respiratory system works.

“You’re gorgeous yourself, honey.”

It's sincere, and Raven remembers how Abby almost never makes compliments. Her chest is immediately filled with warmth, because she's drunk, sweaty, smelling of other people's perfume and different kinds of alcohol, but Abby- who looks like she just came down from Olympus in her dark purple dress- still thinks she's beautiful,_ gorgeous _even. She doesn’t immediately realize she’s smiling widely, but her smile somehow miraculously reflects on Abby's face.

_Maybe going to Polis wasn't such a bad idea after all._

* * *

Once they get to the Griffin townhouse, Abby sends her to the shower. She shouldn’t have done it though; Raven almost falls down the stairs four times, until Abby wraps her arms around the girl’s waist and makes sure she doesn’t miss any steps. When they’re in the bathroom, Raven starts stripping in a not-so-sexy way and somehow manages to jump out of her suddenly too-tight jeans and pull off a sleeveless t-shirt, throwing it somewhere to the side and remaining in her underwear. She thinks Abby’s eyes darken when the older woman looks her over, but she blames it all on another hallucination or actual madness. She probably just needs to drink less in order for it not to happen again in the future.

They stand in the middle of the spacious bathroom for a few minutes, just looking at each other until Abby recovers. The older woman shivers sharply, mutters something about bringing fresh clothes and runs out of the bathroom with such speed as if she was told if she spends here at least another second, she will certainly catch some deadly virus.

Raven takes a refreshingly cold and a scalding hot shower, turning the tap to the left, then to the right side. She uses lavender shower gel, washing off the whole ‘Polis’ atmosphere and, almost without thinking, washes her hair with the blackberry shampoo. Blackberry is the scent accompanying Abby everywhere, even when she’s in the hospital, which, in fact, smells of sterility alone. Abby's like a breath of fresh air. In every way.

But still, for a breath of fresh air, she makes Raven stop breathing too often. When the girl comes out of the bathroom wearing only black panties and a navy blue oversized t-shirt which is not even reaching her thighs (because _of course, _she decided to completely ignore the pants Abby had brought), Abby sits on the bed waiting for her. She’s dressed quite differently, homely vulnerable, in simple dark gray shorts and not very long white t-shirt. Her makeup’s washed off, and the only evidence of her being on a date just an hour earlier is the perfect curls flowing down her shoulders and back. And that's when Raven remembers. The _date_. Kane.

But she doesn't notice at all _how _Abby looks at her.

(And it would be so much better if she did)

Because if she had noticed, she would have never said what she's saying now.

“Was your date so extremely boring?” she smirks, coming towards the bed on the right side and falling on a bunch of soft pillows. The right side because she knows left is the one Abby’s sleeping at (not that they were going to spend the night together, but still). “So boring you came to my birthday party without an invitation?”

Abby still has her back to her when she answers, and Raven just closes her eyes, listening to every word. The older woman's voice is melodic, hoarse, and even when they talk about something that almost causes her physical pain, she still enjoys it. 

“I had an invitation, didn't I?”

“Usually when you’re called and told you are _not _needed, it means an automatic cancellation of the invitation, if you didn’t know,” Raven spits out, but some of her words get muted due to her burying her nose in one of the pillows she’s clinging to. She always loved the pillows in the Griffin household, wondering if they were stuffed with clouds instead of fuzz.

Silence consumes them for a while, and Raven feels like she's starting to fall asleep when the older woman speaks up.

“Don't do that, please,” Abby asks, and her voice seems to break (once again, nonsense, it just _can't be_). She gently runs her hand down the girl's back, and Raven finally gets it together; she shivers, opens her eyes and removes the pillow from her face, looking at Abby who’s suddenly lying right next to her. She turns on her left side to meet the older woman’s gaze and immediately wishes she hadn’t. Because Abby's eyes are almost pleading and seem to be shining with unshed tears. “Can we just talk?”

“About how you _ditched _me on my fucking _birthday_?” Raven asks with undisguised anger, noticing how Abby flinches, either because of the tone of her voice or the curse she's using or because of what she's talking about. The woman's hand moved to her waist when she turned on her side, but she still hadn't done anything to get rid of it; to be honest, she didn't want to do that at all. But she certainly can't think straight when Abby looks at her like _that _and touches her like _that_.

“I didn’t-“ she shakes her head, biting her lower lip, and Raven is almost ready to give up. “Honey, please, just let me-”

‘Almost’ is the keyword. Because she's _angry_. All evening she'd shoved her anger away, trying to have fun, but doing it without Abby was catastrophically difficult, if not impossible at all.

Raven knows she's not the head of surgery like Marcus Kane is, she's not the man with the perfect hair and beard, she's not the kind of person who sees Abby at work every day and has lunch at the stupid hospital cafeteria with her (except maybe a few times when Raven brought Abby something she’d forgotten at home and found herself being invited to lunch), but she damn well thought they were _friends_.

She throws Abby’s hand off her waist with the sharp movement of her own and climbs out of bed, heading towards the door. She literally spits out an overly irritated, “Gonna go get a drink”, and leaves the room, slamming the door not-accidentally-at-all.

Abby looks at her like Raven just broke her heart. Raven doesn’t see it at all.

* * *

She wasn’t going to stay in the kitchen; she just needed to calm down a little in order not to say too much. But she finds a bar of her favorite chocolate in the fridge which miraculously materialized there; Raven remembers the one she bought herself was finished the day before yesterday. She grabs a bottle of lemonade from the fridge- because the word ‘alcohol’ literally makes her sick- and jumps on the countertop, dangling her legs.

Half a bottle and eight slices of chocolate later Raven realizes she’s cold. Cold lemonade along with wet hair and water flowing down her back were clearly not the best combination. She probably should have worn the pants Abby had brought.

Her thoughts have always returned to the woman, no matter how hard she tried to think about something else or about nothing at all. She remembers all little touches in the back of the taxi, the somewhat shyly indecisive _“you’re gorgeous yourself, sweetie” _and a hug in the middle of the bar that probably stopped Raven’s heart and then restarted it. Abby has such an effect on her almost always; it seems the older woman can both kill her and save her, and it scares the shit out of her. All in all, Abby is extremely intimidating, but in the best possible way. In the “my heart beats alarmingly fast or doesn't beat at all” way.

She leans back, banging her head against the wall, and moans painfully because she was clearly not ready for it. Raven rubs the back of her head, runs the hand through her hair, and takes another sip of lemonade, swinging her legs like a child and replaying in her memory everything that happened at the bar. Thinking is still a difficult, but after a refreshing shower is a much more tolerable task, and that’s why she notices things she’d missed before.

As if having the ability to read her mind at a distance (which is probably true after all), Abby appears in the kitchen a few minutes later. She slowly walks up to where Raven is sitting, and looks, for some reason, very unsure, fiddling with the bracelet on her left hand.

“You’re sitting on the countertop again,” she states, slightly tilting her head. The corners of her lips lift up in a soft smile, and Raven needs every ounce of her self-control not to smile back. “Clarke does that too. I swear, I have no idea why this house even has a-“

“I didn't tell you where I was,” Raven says, ignoring what Abby has just said. She raises her head slightly and meets the older woman’s eyes who looks like she’d just been busted. 

“That’s right,” Abby replies after some time, apparently not seeing a point in denying this sort-of-an-accusation since the girl already seemed to realize everything it herself.

“O, Clarke and Bell didn't answer any of your calls,” Raven continues, getting the same answer and a slow, measured nod in addition, “but you still came to Polis. Although I’ve never even mentioned this place.”

“That's right,” Abby mutters, hoping that might be enough. Of course, it’s not, and Raven's gaze is too demanding for her not to keep going. “I- I tracked your location on Instagram.” 

“You did _what_?” Raven doesn’t even try to mask her surprise, almost dropping the bottle in her hands on the floor. Abby just nods, as if saying _'__yep, that’s exactly what I did__'_, not eager to tell more. But Raven wants details; she narrows her eyes, stares at the older woman with obvious interest, and she gives up in less than a minute, exhaling sharply.

“It's easier than it looks. Clarke and Octavia put the geolocation in one of their Instagram stories,” Abby tries to brush it off, apparently forgetting for a split second she’s dealing with Raven. 

“Don't they hide their stories from you ever since creating Insta accounts?” Raven asks raising her eyebrows, though she’s already one hundred percent sure of the answer. 

It’s always been a common cause of the arguments between them; Clarke and Octavia insisted on Raven hiding her stories from Abby, too, but she didn't want to do that at all, even for a while. Because the older woman always wrote to her how good she looked when she posted a picture in a just-bought dress/skirt/jeans, asked her to be careful when Raven told her followers she was going to try bungee jumping, and started long, fascinating conversations with her about Italian cuisine every time she posted in her story just-cooked pizza, pasta or lasagna. So Raven would have never been able to give up all of that.

She narrows her eyes and looks at the older woman, who clearly feels embarrassed and hurriedly averts her gaze. The realization hits her almost instantly.

“Do you have a second account?”

“No!” Abby answers a little too quickly. Raven grins as if ten minutes ago she wasn’t almost yelling at her. She grabs the older woman’s wrist and pulls her closer, and somehow Abby finds herself between the girl’s spread legs while Raven’s free hand slightly lifts her chin up, forcing her to meet the somewhat smug and confident gaze. A bottle of lemonade is forgotten somewhere on the countertop because touching Abby is much, much more satisfying.

“Don't you remind Clarke all the time to always tell the truth?” Raven whispers and oh, _fuck_. She knows it's a low blow, and that she's overstepping, and she'll probably want to jump out of the window first thing in the morning. But Abby blushes, and Raven realizes the double meaning of her words in their situation only when there's nothing she can do about it. The older woman exhales sharply and nods softly in response.

“I- let’s _assume _I grabbed the phone of the person next to me, created a new account, and looked through Clarke and Octavia's stories to find out where you are,” Abby mutters, trying to look down.

The realization hits Raven quickly and painfully; it's not hard to guess who this person next to Abby was. _Fucking Kane_. She swallows hard and takes her hands from the older woman completely, who looks at her like a lost baby deer when she no longer feels the soft touch of long fingers on her skin. Abby almost immediately understands what's going on, and there’s an immediate regret on her face.

“Honey, I-”

“For God's sake, just _stop _calling me that!” she half-pleads and half-requires, raising her voice. She realizes she’s yelling too late. Abby, stunned, leans back a little; she doesn't look angry but rather terribly upset. Her chest aches instantly because she’s the reason for this sadness on Abby’s face.

The older woman takes a tiny step back, about to turn around and walk away, leave the girl alone and let her sober up, but Raven’s not satisfied with this scenario at all. She once again wraps her fingers around Abby's wrist, stopping her, and when she realizes the older woman’s not leaving anymore, looks down and interlaces their fingers.

“I'm sorry, I'm just-” Raven shakes her head, not quite sure how to explain what she’s feeling without telling _everything _about it.

Abby frees her left hand and moves it to Raven's waist, while she tucks a strand of still wet hair behind the girl's ear with her right one. Raven closes her eyes and leans forward, feeling the woman's fingertips touch her cheek.

“You know you can ask me anything, right? Tell me anything?” Abby reminds her, and the hint is too thick to go unnoticed.

Raven whispers somewhat childishly, “Yeah, I know,” and opens her eyes, seeing a concerned look on Abby’s face. She looks at her as if the girl is her whole universe (but surely Raven’s just hallucinating), touches her as if there’s nothing she would like to do more (again, she’s probably delusional), and Raven feels dizzy and slightly nauseous. It's like she's sixteen again, it’s like she fell in love for the very first time, but the truth is, the feelings for the woman standing in front of her are about three times stronger than anything she's ever felt for anyone else. Perhaps that’s why the question flying off her lips is painfully timid and almost inaudible.

“Do you even consider me your friend?”

“Oh, honey,” Abby mutters and falls silent quickly, probably checking how the girl will react to this endearment. Now Raven’s perfectly calm and ready to listen, and the older woman exhales slowly when she realizes she hasn’t fucked something up once again, “of course I do. You're very important to me. Don't you even dare doubt it.”

“I didn’t,” Raven says in her defense, but quickly gives up due to the woman’s eloquent gaze and adds, “at least until today.”

Abby understands very quickly what this is about and exhales sharply once again, immediately feeling guilty. She subconsciously starts drawing simple patterns by her left hand’s fingers on the girl’s waist, clearly oblivious to how she trembles at each touch. Raven’s slowly losing her mind; she feels like she's going to lose consciousness at any second from sensory overload on top of that, mostly because of those gentle touches and the strong smell of blackberry now coming from both of them.

And that's the moment she remembers she's not wearing any pants. And her legs are spread. And Abby's standing right in front of her.

...God, she’s _never _drinking again.

“Tell me,” Abby breathes out, and Raven really feels like she's in some completely different universe.

“I invited you, and you declined”, she says as if this can explain absolutely everything. She nervously squeezes her own hands somewhere in that small space still separating them (which is, in fact, the only reason she still hasn't died of a heart attack).

“Can you imagine me getting drunk in a _bar _with my _daughter_?” Abby retorts, and Raven just rolls her eyes.

“We wouldn't go to a bar. We could go- I don't know,” she exhales sharply and shakes her head slightly, thinking that _now _the older woman might finally take her hands off her waist and cheek, but she still keeps them there. Raven shrugs vaguely, naming the first place that comes to her mind, “to a restaurant?”

Abby actually _smirks_, and Raven forgets how the respiratory system works probably for the hundredth time tonight.

“Even _I _find the birthday party at a restaurant terribly boring, dear,” she replies with obvious skepticism. When the girl lifts her head a bit, her gaze falls on Abby's lips, the corners of which are slightly lifted up in a little smile. Raven unconsciously licks her own, somehow dry lips, and instinctively leans forward. 

“To be honest, I didn't care about the place. I just wanted you to be there, you know? That's all that mattered,” she whispers for some reason, as if she knows if these words are spoken at least a little louder, then the next thing she says will be the one she was so desperately trying not to.

“Oh, honey,” Abby repeats for the second time in the last few minutes, and she still sounds like she finds it hard to breathe. She starts caressing the girl’s cheek with an amazing tenderness as if trying to calm her down beforehand. “I wanted to be with you _so _much, too, but I just had to-”

Apparently, Raven is still not sober enough to notice what _exactly _Abby’s just told her, and too drunk to let her finish.

“Had to go on a date with Kane, I get it,” Raven mutters a little irritably, watching Abby's mouth open a little as she takes in a breath.

A moment after that, some overly pleased smile spreads across her face as the older woman narrows her eyes and asks, “Are you jealous?”

“Hell no!” Raven snorts, trying to fake a casualness and outright indifference, but she clearly sucks at this; she says it too quickly, almost shouting, and she’s suddenly blushing furiously. “I'm _not _jealous,” she insists. It turns out even worse than before; it sounds so unconvincing the smile on the older woman’s face becomes only wider.

“Mhmm, of course, it all makes sense now. It’s _very _clear,” Abby grins, and Raven’s blood runs cold when she thinks about _what _could be clear for her.

“It’s not!” She retorts somewhat childishly, trying to look serious but failing once again. The kitchen sinks into soft laughter, flying off their lips.

They fall silent and look at each other for some time. Suddenly Abby's second hand is not on Raven's cheek, but on her waist, and the girl's hands are somehow wrapped around the older woman's neck because at this very moment it seems this is exactly how it should be. It’s impossible to get rid of this strange feeling, but she doesn’t even want to.

Then she decides rational thinking can go straight to hell.

“I'm drunk.” 

"I know," Abby smiles affectionally and nods softly, starting to draw circles on Raven’s back with the index finger of her right hand. And Raven’s not sure at all what has a stronger effect on her; the alcohol or the older woman’s touches.

(Who’s she kidding; she _is_, with one hundred percent accuracy)

“And a little mad at you.”

“I know.”

“And you're just _so fucking beautiful_.”

Abby winces a little at the curse, and Raven grins as if this reaction was foreseen. The next thing she notices is how not only the woman’s cheeks redden, but also the tips of her ears.

“You're exaggerating,” Abby shrugs, slightly shaking her head and lowering it. Raven gently runs over the back of the woman's neck with her fingertips, instantly causing her to stop talking and lock her eyes down on her lips/eyes (Raven can’t determine to what exactly). “I already took off my dress and washed my makeup off.” 

“Oh, God, Abs,” Raven laughs before she can stop herself. “Don't do this, please. You look amazing in any outfit, but especially when you're all homey, you know? Just driving me crazy,” Raven says, not thinking at all and having no idea how Abby’s heartbeat suddenly accelerates from these words alone. “I'm drunk and a little mad at you, and you're just _so fucking beautiful_, and you are _here_, not anywhere else, and I just want to say that I-”

Abby's lips suddenly cover hers, and hundreds of thousands of fireworks explode in Raven’s head. She doubts even the fireworks on Independence Day can compare to what happens to her when she somewhat timidly- and that’s, in fact, not peculiar to her _at all_\- answers the kiss. Abby's lips are warm and soft when she opens her mouth slightly, allowing the girl to deepen the kiss and pull her even closer. Raven's hands are tangled in dark brown wavy hair which exudes a strong and sweet scent of blackberry; the older woman herself tastes like peppermint jelly, cappuccino, and cinnamon. Movements of Abby’s hands are careful but confident as they crawl under her t-shirt, touching the soft skin of her stomach. Raven lets out a soft moan right into the woman's mouth, leaning towards the touch. Her fingers are cold and so amazingly different from the girl’s heated skin that she’s almost ready to whimper from desire spreading across her body at the speed of light. Abby realizes this instantly, reading her like an open book, and pulls away, returning her hands to Raven's waist, who doesn't look disappointed just because of one single realization; _Abigail Griffin_ has just _kissed her_.

“You kissed me,” Raven states the obvious fact, causing the older woman to laugh softly and then go on her tiptoes, leaving a quick kiss on her lips, as if silently confirming the girl’s words. She looks at Abby, and the look on her face is not just gentle and tender as usual, but _loving_. Did she always look at her like that?

“I can't believe you’ve actually just kissed me,” Raven says disbelievingly, and Abby just smiles in response, playfully biting her lower lip. Suddenly the girl is ready to do anything in order for Abby to do that again.

“Me too!” Raven hears the voice from the hall. And, of course, it's goddamned _Clarke_.

Raven abruptly removes her hands from Abby’s hair where they were just a few seconds ago, and looks down, blushing noticeably. God, why the hell isn’t she wearing any pants?

Clarke quickly closes the distance between them, and Raven allows herself to glance at her only to see her best friend looking like she’s ready to kill. _Oh shit._

“I can't believe you’ve waited _four _years, but you couldn't wait for another,” the blonde glances at her wristwatch, then immediately looks up at them, much more irritated, “thirty minutes!"

Raven frowns, looks at her, clearly confused, and so does Abby, who hasn't taken her hands off her waist yet. The warmth spreads through her chest at this small, seemingly insignificant fact.

“Three hundred bucks, _three hundred!_” Clarke exclaims, waving her hands so hard she almost punches them both in the face (if it did happen, it would hardly be an accident). “And all because of some fucking thirty minutes! Dammit, those Blakes!

It’s not difficult for Raven to put two and two together, but that doesn’t make her any less surprised. 

“Bellamy told you?!” she blurts out, thinking about at least thirteen different ways to kill him and make it look like an accident.

“About your _super-secret _crush on my mom? Babe, you can see it a mile away. Your conspiracy skills would’ve needed to be improved if you'd wanted to keep your feelings a secret,” Clarke replies, waving her hand in her best friend’s direction. “That goes for you too, mom,” she tells her mother, rolling her eyes demonstratively.

_“I can't believe you had a crush on me the whole time but didn't tell me!”_

The words were spoken in unison by both of them, making Clarke let out a strangled chuckle as if she could barely restrain herself from not only killing them but also from laughing out loud. They stared at each other, exchanging what seemed to be accusing glances.

“You were my best friend’s mother,” Raven uses as her excuse.

“You were my daughter's best friend,” Abby retorts with a straight face (and it’s the only straight thing about this situation, really). The girl unwittingly breaks into a smile because, _of course_, they’re the ones who managed to get into such a completely stupid situation.

“Don't wanna interrupt your idyll, but I'm still _your _daughter,” Clarke points the finger at her mother, “and _your _best friend,” the blonde finishes, pointing at Raven. The eyes of the aforementioned people are suddenly glued to her, and she instantly regrets even opening her mouth. “Although, you know, I think I'd better go,” she blurts out, taking a few small steps back and raising her hands up in surrender. But, of course, there was no such luck.

“Clarke,” Abby starts, and her daughter, judging by her frightened expression, instantly recognizes the tone of her voice. And that’s her signature ‘you’re-in-trouble-young-lady’ tone which along with the identical look makes almost any person wanting to sink into the ground. Clarke, of course, is no exception. “Would you care to explain to me why Raven was misinformed about my plans for tonight and believed I had a date with Marcus? After all, _that’s _what _you _told her, knowing very well this was a business meeting.”

“A business meeting?!” Raven blurts out, unable to stop herself. Abby was at a business meeting, and she... _God_. There’s officially a dry law in the United States of Raven Reyes from this day forward.

“I was discussing with him what was to be a surprise for your birthday,” the older woman says reluctantly, spilling all the beans. Raven can’t hold back and runs her right hand over her face, immediately wanting to be on another continent right now. She should definitely think about writing a manual _‘How to make yourself look like an idiot: 10 simple steps_’ or something like that. With her success, the book’s very likely to become a bestseller in no time. “And I was doing it at this late hour only because Kane’s flight was delayed. That’s why he arrived a few hours later than originally planned,” Abby continues, watching as the girl blushes more and more with a soft smile on her face.

“But why didn’t you tell me?”

“Do I need to remind you every time I tried to do that, you interrupted me with something including the words _‘my fucking birthday’_?” Abby asks, raising her left eyebrow. Raven almost chokes on air; she’s completely forgotten about this little detail. That was what the older woman had been trying to talk to her about all along.

“Well, now that we've figured everything out, I wanted to ask you both something,” Clarke joins in, drawing the attention of both of them at once. “Ray, are you free tomorrow? Like, around 8 pm?”

“Yes?” Raven replies with an obvious confusion in her voice. Her best friend looks so smug it’s more than suspicious.

“Mom, what about you?”

“Well, yeah,” Abby says, narrowing her eyes and giving her daughter her other signature look, ‘what-the-hell-are-you-up-to’ one. Clarke doesn’t keep them waiting long.

“Great! Because I’m not. Go on without me. Enjoy your date!” Clarke exclaims a bit too enthusiastically, slowly leaving the room as if she’s afraid something’s about to hit her in the head. Perhaps the looks on her mother's and her best friend's faces had had such an effect on her.

“_Excuse me?_” Abby asks disbelievingly.

“Since I lost 300 bucks anyway because you couldn't make it to two in the morning, I certainly can't let you screw up with _this_,” Clarke vaguely waves her hand into the space between them. “Whatever the hell this is. So I'm taking matters into my own hands, because knowing both of you, at least one of you will want to escape to another country,” she says, looking at them eloquently. Raven immediately thinks her best friend’s undoubtedly referring to her, but when she glances at Abby, she sees her blushing furiously.

“Raven and I are adults, Clarke. We’re quite capable ourselves to deal with the arranging of our personal life,” Abby replies, having recovered quickly. It’s necessary to give her credit because she sounds confident and calm as hell.

Clarke rolls her eyes demonstratively and scoffs. “Yeah, sure!”

Abby’s shocked, Raven is not really, but she still can’t find any words too. Probably because she doesn’t really want to admit her best friend is right, but at the same time it feels like a necessary thing to do because Clarke certainly is. They don’t have any time to get it together before Clarke shouts from the hall, “Sleeping over at Octavia’s, will text both of you the date details in a few. And don’t you dare, _for God’s sake_, even think about having sex in the kitchen, or in the living room, or anywhere else some part of my body might end up later!”

Clarke runs out of the house before any of them has the opportunity to give her some sort of intelligible answer. 

“Did she just-” Abby says after at least one and a half minutes of deafening silence, still looking as shocked as she had before.

“Yeah, she did,” mutters Raven, grinning nervously.

“Oh,” Abby breaths out, and Raven suddenly realizes exactly what Clarke has meant, “you know, we don’t- if you don’t want to, we don’t have to- I mean, you and I are not-”

“God, shut up,” she chuckles. Abby looks she’s going to tell her off or start arguing or say something charmingly stupid, but she doesn’t have an ability to do any of that. Because Raven cups the older woman’s cheeks, closes her own eyes, leans forward and kisses her. That kiss is different; fast, demanding and insistent. When Raven pulls away, she swears she actually hears a quiet, disappointed moan. And for the first time tonight, she's considering the possibility she's not hallucinating or being delusional. “Will you go on a date with me?”

Abby smiles, nods and literally beams with happiness, and that’s why Raven can’t hold back a wide and radiant smile.

Raven is 26, she's got a great job, three amazing best friends and a not-so-hopeless crush on Abby, who happens to have a crush on her too.


End file.
